You know what they say about good intentions ... they get washed away in your basement.

I could prepare a bird, or
a convicted felon could.  Your
choice.

Here is my Thanksgiving recap.  You should totally bookmark this page to refer to for the years to come, because I'm offering a lot of helpful advice here.  Also it's shorter than planned because my basement flooded.  Again.  Dude.  (Big thanks to John who came over on two separate days to help us out with the creeping water downstairs.)(And thanks for not judging me for the everyday state of the basement.)(Or the rest of my house.)(Or that the kids were in their jammies all day.)(And sorry that I almost hit your car when I was coming home after doing Kohl's returns.)(I'm like, the best driver ever when it comes to turns.)

Preparing the Feast

The most important part of preparing Thanksgiving dinner is to find someone else to invite you to their Thanksgiving dinner.  Offer to bring something and wait with bated breath until you are assigned rolls and green beans and sigh in relief.  On the big day, look at the clock and discover you have some time for a quick nap that you desperately need because tonight is BLACK FRIDAY.  To determine the length of your nap, check the package of the frozen rolls you will be bringing to Thanksgiving dinner to see how much cooking time on which to plan, realize they still need to rise before you can cook them, and say, "Dude, I better start these now."

Preheat the oven and take a casserole dish down to the basement and use the water cooler to fill your casserole dish with boiling water; this you will put in the oven with the rolls so they will rise faster because they are in a (cringe) *moist* environment.  On the way back up the basement stairs, slosh boiling water on your hand and give yourself a mental high-five for not cursing. (Mental high-five. You are still carrying boiling water.)  Get the rolls in the oven and set the timer for one hour so the rolls can rise.

Lay down on the couch.  Every forty seconds think of something hilarious to tell your husband who is playing working on the computer fifteen feet away.  He will finally ask (because he cares about you and wants you rested), "Weren't you going to take a nap?"  Cheerfully thank him for his concern and do not whine, "You never support my humor.  It's not my fault you don't get comedy.  And I still think I should be in your non-existent band."  (You won't say that because that is a ten year old argument and those are never fair to bring up on Thanksgiving.)

Decide the true reason you are not falling asleep is because you are not wrapped in the ugliest but coziest comforter in the house and rectify the situation.  Fall asleep hardcore deep.  Like, mouth open, drool all up in this mess, body jello-like, deep.  Stay this way until you are in the deepest part of your sleep cycle.  This is when the timer for the rolls will buzz and scare the bejeebers out of you, causing you to spring up completely entangled in the ugly comforter, and mad-mumble incoherently while you freak out because you totally cannot escape the comforter and the rolls are beeping. Finally sacrifice your slipper to the comforter gods, trip as you fight your way to freedom, and voice your first coherent word. It will be a monster swear, probably aimed at your husband who was just trying to help out, Kelly.

Next, while the rolls (done rising, ready to cook) are baking you spend time on Pinterest because what else would you do?  You certainly wouldn't spend this time making sure the five year old is ready to go to Grandma's and not wearing her bathing suit, a Rapunzel wig, sparkly Dorothy shoes, and a cape.  Or spend that time packing the diaper bag for the two year old.  You will, however, pin tons of good parenting and organizing advice, so good job being productive.

Eventually you will corral all children and food stuffs into the minivan to make your way to Grandma's house.  And that, my friend, is all there is to preparing a Martha-like Thanksgiving meal.